


Earth and Fire and a Great Beyond

by anotherfirename



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Afterlife, Friendship, Gen, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6869194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfirename/pseuds/anotherfirename
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Australian walks into a bar. He's completely broke, but that doesn't matter anymore.</p>
<p>A little something about Pyro and Avalanche reuniting in the afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earth and Fire and a Great Beyond

The bartender is alone in his bar and has been for a long while now, spending his time wiping down the counter and dusting unused glassware. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead and old hits from the 80s play quietly from clunky speakers mounted in each corner of the room. The bartender, with brown eyes and equally brown hair, is dressed casually but neatly in a blue button-up shirt and a worn pair of jeans. He used to wear a watch until he realized that there was no time to keep track of. It’s somewhere in the back room now.

The metal and glass door swings open with a protesting squeak and a man with unkempt blond hair and bright blue eyes walks into the bar. His clothes, cargo shorts and a faded orange t-shirt, are covered in dust. He wears an equally dusty black backpack and tracks dried mud across the wooden floor as he goes to sit at the counter. The bartender doesn’t acknowledge the man’s presence even when the newcomer leans back on his stool and reaches out to grip the edge of the counter so that he doesn’t fall over.

The blond man grins and says, “So how’d you kick the bucket?”

The bartender doesn’t answer and instead sets down the glass in his hand and vanishes into the back room.

“Here,” he says when he returns, setting down a bottle with a pointed clunk. “Have your shitty Australian beer.”

The newcomer laughs and reaches out to turn the bottle so that he can read the label.

“Cheers, mate,” he says as he pops the cap. “Not a bad way to greet an old friend, Dom.”

Dominikos Petrakis, also known as Dominic Petros but better known as Avalanche, waits until the other man starts drinking before saying, “Badly.”

St. John Allerdyce, otherwise known as Pyro, motions for his friend to continue.

“I remember I just finished locking up the bar,” Dom explains. “Next thing I know it’s the middle of the day and I’m wreaking havoc through San Fran.”

“Shit, mate,” St. John says as he puts down the bottle. “Mind control?”

“Yeah. Red Skull.”

“So what happened? The X-Men finally decide to put you down?”

“Not exactly. The X-Men and the Avengers did stop me, but after that?”

Dom pauses and leans forward to grip the counter with both hands. He stares down at the space between his hands and frowns.

“I couldn’t control myself,” he says. “I was aware of everything that was happening but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I didn’t want to destroy San Fran. After M-Day happened I actually settled down. Moved out west, started a business, did right by Helen, even helped out the X-Men.” Dom takes a deep breath and looks up at his friend. “He made me kill myself. At least it probably doesn’t count as suicide if you’re not in your right mind.”

St. John is silent, his expression unreadable. Then he picks up the beer bottle and holds it out to Dom as an offering. Dom chuckles and shakes his head.

“Well that’s fucked up,” St. John says with a shrug before taking another swig from his bottle.

“I’m almost jealous,” Dom says, though there’s no malice in his voice. “You got to choose how you went out.”

“I think you’re forgetting some things there, mate.”

“You had the Legacy Virus. I remember. But at least you had a say at the very end.”

“Yeah, alright. Fair enough.”

St. John frowns at the now empty bottle in his hand and tips it onto its side so that he can roll it across the counter. Dom catches it with one hand before it falls off the edge.

“So how’s the ex-misses?” St. John asks. “I thought she wasn’t talking to you anymore.”

“I’m surprised you’re even asking,” Dom says. “I swear you forgot she existed half the time. Or all the time.”

“I never forgot. I just like messing with you.”

“Obviously. Helen’s well, or at least she was when we last talked. I don’t know how long it’s been since then.”

“Don’t ask me.”

“I wasn’t going to. But she was doing well. She got a promotion, moved to a better neighbourhood, started seeing someone from work. Good things. Normal things.”

“Not married to a wanted terrorist things.”

Dom laughs but then smiles sadly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Not married to a wanted terrorist things.”

Dom looks around the bar that is a dead ringer for the real one he had in San Francisco right down to the names scratched into the bathroom mirror. Sunlight streams through the windows like it’s a beautiful day outside, but there is nothing beyond the door except for an expanse of empty white plains.

“You know,” Dom says, “this isn’t what I expected.”

“You’re telling me,” St. John says. “I used to be Catholic. Sort of. Point is I won the lottery with this. And I still have my powers! How’s that for being a lucky son of a bitch?”

“Don’t set my bar on fire.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

St. John casts a quick look around and then slaps the counter with both hands. He stands up, nearly tripping over the bar stool in the process.

“So,” he says loudly. “You ready to get out of here? Turns out death has a lot to offer even for people who were complete bastards in life.”

“You’re still a bastard, St. John,” Dom points out with a laugh, but he’s already making his way to the other side of the counter.

“Ouch. So are you coming or what?”

St. John is already waiting at the door with one hand pressed against the glass. Dom doesn’t know how his friend found him or what he’s been up to since they last saw each other, but he has a feeling he’s about to find out. He casts one last look at the bar that was once a piece of quiet he didn’t realize he missed. He looks back at his friend still waiting for him.

“Let’s go,” Dom says. “I wasn’t getting any customers anyway.”

Muscle memory tells him he should lock up, but Dom doesn’t see the point and his friend has been waiting long enough already. So he leaves the lights on and follows St. John out into the unknown.


End file.
